How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [93]
“Change?”
“You know, grow up.”
“You are all growed up, Shug.” She smiles and turns to go, leaving the papers on the countertop. I follow her down the hallway, guessing she doesn’t understand what I mean at all. But I’m wrong. As she opens the door, a blast of cool November air flows into the cabin, and Giovanni races outside to jump into a pile of brown leaves. My aunt pauses, looks at me, and says, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”
I nod. I think of the words my grandfather penned in his letter to me. “Life is never as we expect it.”
“I suppose Ernest’s plans, mixed with God’s, all came about to teach you wonderful things.” She lifts a strand of gray hair from her eyes, considers saying something else, hesitates, and then says, “Ernest was fond of you.”
“Really?”
“You and he are more alike than you realize. He saw something in you, something that clicked with him.”
My face must have its bewildered look because she clarifies with, “Shug, he knew. He asked for my advice, and I gave it. I told him that I was sure you would appreciate a cabin in these parts. But he wanted you to not just get the cabin and stay holed up in it. He wanted you to receive something and to have to give something of yourself. Receiving and giving, isn’t that what it’s all about?” She smiles.
“Receive… and give… ?”
Fingering her sentimental silver ring from her mother, she explains. “Did I ever tell you about the time I wanted a bunny rabbit?”
Without waiting for my reply, Regena Lorraine excitedly dives into her story. “Ernest made me work for it. I begged for a bunny, in spite of the fact that he told me caring for a pet takes a lot of work. He went on and on about how I would have to clean up after it and feed it and be responsible enough to keep it out of Mrs. McGullery’s flower garden. I said that I could do all that. That’s when he looked me in the eye and said that I had to help the Kinston twins with their math. They weren’t very smart, oh no. They weren’t the brightest bulbs in the county. But I could teach fractions pretty well.” She smiles as though reflecting on a chalkboard filled with one-thirds and three-fourths.
“Did you ever get the rabbit?”
Mischievously, she smiles. “I did. I named her Huckleberry Finn, even though she was female. To everyone’s surprise, those Kinston twins passed fifth-grade math.” After a moment she says, “I learned patience and how good things take time. Ernest says the twins benefited from my teaching. I gave to them, and they gave to me.”
At that, Giovanni pauses from his romping and barks. It is a sweet reaction, and mixes well with the faint scent of my aunt’s perfume.
From her truck, Regena Lorraine takes a spiral-shaped brown piece of pottery with two large dots on one side. “Here you are, Shug.” She places this object in my hands. “Sorry it took me so long.” Then she opens the passenger door and Giovanni leaps inside. She lowers the window, and his nose twitches with pleasure as his mouth produces a bubble of drool.
“Going to play Clue,” she says to me with a wave. “I hope I win something good tonight. I could use another measuring cup. My glass one broke this morning.”
After the truck edges out of the driveway and starts down the narrow sloping road, I look at what I’ve been given. The dots are eyes, part of a face—the face of a raccoon. The pink lips are faded, as though the bowl has been used and washed many times. So this is the famous raccoon bowl. I wonder what peanut soup tastes like from this silly container. I recall the story Regena Lorraine told me about the raccoons attacking my grandpa as he tried to get into the cabin. My aunt still laughs at the memory. Is that what this bowl is about? Being able to laugh at certain memories? Then eat hot soup from it? I think being able to fully taste all the flavors comes with experiencing all of life. Grabbing it by the reins and feeling it pulsate in your heart, in your mind, and in your hands.
Sometimes truly living comes in the least expected or wanted circumstances. Like having to teach middle-school